


Miracle

by fiction6661



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Slash If You Squint, Spoilers, Star Trek: Into Darkness, it's 'that' scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiction6661/pseuds/fiction6661
Summary: Spock is hit with the realization that the Enterprise’s sudden rise from the brink of death was not mere coincidence, but causation.He recognizes it now and, somehow, he knows that it is unlikely there will be more than one ‘miracle’ today.So he runs.-Spock's perspective on that fateful scene in Into Darkness. Because it totally hasn't been done to death already.





	Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. So this was actually supposed to be part of a larger story that I was writing years ago. I've pretty well decided that I'm abandoning it so I might as well post the section I did get done.  
> Enjoy the angst!

“It's a miracle.” Ensign Jeffries proclaims, voice strained and eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Her hands flutter uneasily above her monitor, almost as though touching it will undo whatever phenomenon has just occurred.

“There are no such things.” Spock responds, almost to himself, as presses the button to release the straps holding him in his chair. As much as he hates to admit it, his mind is reeling from the abrupt change in their circumstances. Miracles do not exist; he knows this to be fact. The statistical likelihood of the crew of the Enterprise surviving a complete system failure while plummeting into Earth’s atmosphere was barely enough to be considered a hundredth of a percent. Yet here they were.

The chime of the communicator on the captain’s chair brings him out of his musings.

“Engineering to Bridge. Mr. Spock...”

“Mr. Scott?” he questions. The tone in the chief engineer’s voice is unlike the rowdy Scottish man, urgent and yet subdued. 

“Sir, you better get down here. Better hurry.”

And all of a sudden he understands. There are no such things as miracles. However, there has been a single human whom asserts that there is no such thing as a ‘no win scenario’. Spock is hit with the realization that the Enterprise’s sudden rise from the brink of death was not mere coincidence, but causation. 

He recognizes it now and, somehow, he knows that it is unlikely there will be more than one ‘miracle’ today.

So he runs.

He sprints faster than regulation allows and violently pushes past people, but finds that he does not care. For once, he desperately wants to prove himself wrong. For once, Spock yearns for miracles to truly exist.

 

\-------------------------

 

When he makes it to Engineering minutes later, Spock knows his theory is correct. Mr. Scott is standing there waiting for him, unshed tears in his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, his gaze flickering over to the Warp Core.

Spock instinctively moves to the hatch, willing it to open, wishing for Jim to smoothly exit with nothing more than bruises from his ordeal.

What he sees instead is his captain’s battered body. He is dragging himself through the secondary gate built to contain the radiation. 

“Open it,” he turns to Scotty, demanding and exact.

“The decontamination process is not complete; you'd flood the whole compartment. The door is locked, sir.”

But Spock is not listening anymore. He already knew the answer before the question was even out of his mouth. He knows the ramifications, has studied the effects of radiation on the human body. 

The information at any other time would have provided him with a sense of control, a sense of purpose, but now he only feels burdened by the knowledge.

He notices movement out of the corner of his vision and instantaneously refocuses on the young man he has come to know. Feeling an illogical need to get closer, Spock lowers his body until he’s resting on his knees; he is now almost eye level with the captain. He watches in abject horror as Jim crawls his way to the glass of the door, grunting and panting with every breath, and collapses against the entrance. 

For a split second Spock forgets there is a thick pane of glass separating them. The sensitive pads of his fingers, on their own volition, try to seek out Jim’s warmth. Instead, they only meet the cool, lifeless barrier and instantly retract to the door frame.

Jim, still unaware of his presence, gasps as he struggles to lift his arm. His exertion is rewarded moments later when he cues the switch inside to shut the inner door to the Warp Core, thus expediting the decontamination process. He lets out a sharp exhalation as his arm falls. His chest is heaving to take in the oxygen it so desperately needs. Spock quietly watches, taking notice of the still rising and falling chest, as his captain strains to get his breathing back under control. 

After a few seconds, Jim realizes that he is not alone. He turns his head toward the glass. His eyes glazed and unfocused. It takes another second before he realizes who he is looking at and meets Spock’s gaze. 

“How's our ship?” he asks, still out of breath. His voice is faint, almost a whisper, but Spock can hear it as clearly as though it were shouted. 

“Out of danger,” Spock assures.

“Good,” Jim concludes with a heavy exhale. If it were not for his superior hearing, Spock might have mistaken it for a weak cough.

“You saved the crew.”

“You used what he wanted against him, that's a nice move.” he deflects. His speech is getting more slurred with fatigue. It is becoming increasingly clear that he is struggling just to stay awake, to stay breathing.

“It is what you would have done.” That much was true. Spock had had to consult with his counterpart in order to formulate the plan. There is no doubt in his mind that Captain Kirk would have concocted it in much less time had he been on the bridge. They were a proficient pair in disadvantageous circumstances; Jim and his abstract thinking and himself with his logic to supplement it.

Spock has to discreetly blink away the moisture building in his eyes at the thought.

“And this… this is what you would have done. It was only logical.” 

Spock watches as his captain’s breath gets caught in his throat; observes as his laryngeal prominence jolts with the intensity of his swallows. Jim is trying to suppress a sob, this much is certain. His eyes are becoming increasingly watery and Spock finds his own responding in turn.

“I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?” 

A single tear escapes the confines of Jim’s bloodshot eyes and Spock unconsciously tracks its path. His gaze wavers as the droplet slides down the gentle slope of Jim’s nose. 

Spock recognizes that his control over his emotions is rapidly deteriorating. He feels a deep, torturing sadness. The place where his heart is located feels hollow, almost as though it had been robbed from him without his knowledge. His extremities seem heavy and sore and his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

It is unfortunately not an unfamiliar feeling. When his mother had died and his planet had been destroyed he didn’t allow himself time to grieve. He had felt sorrow and anguish, more than he had ever thought possible but had a constructive outlet to channel it into immediately afterward. Back then he could centre his attentions on Nero, on wreaking vengeance for his kind.

Now, though, he can only sit and watch. Helpless. Unable to do more than be a witness to his captain’s suffering.

He sniffles softly and shakes his head minutely in a last ditch effort to get himself under control. When he does speak, his voice is choked with the emotions he just can’t seem to suppress. He looks into his captain’s eyes tells the absolute truth.

“I do not know. Right now I am failing.” He sniffs again, unbidden.

Jim’s eyelids flutter and his breath sticks in his throat. But his eyes, his brilliant blue eyes, lock onto his own with startling clarity. They convey sadness, understanding. Spock feels as though those eyes stare straight through him, gazing deep into the core of his being and seeing all that he could never hope to hide. 

“I want you to know why I couldn't let you die; why I went back for you.” Jim’s breaths come in short, quick gasps now. Spock knows that their time together has almost come to an end.

“Because you are my friend,” he finishes for him. It is the truth. Somewhere along the line they became more than just Captain and First Officer. They became allies, companions, brothers, a support system that neither had truly had before. Jim was the first genuine friend Spock had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The moisture that had been building up in his eyes finally gains the mass to fall without reservation. He can’t find the will to stop it any longer.

Jim chokes on his breath and weakly coughs, no longer able to get enough oxygen to speak. Instead, he takes the last of his remaining strength and places his hand on the thick glass that separates them. Without pause, Spock moves his hand so that it is covering his friend’s. His dexterous fingers move into a ta’al before he can think about it. Jim, who barely has the coordination left to blink, weakly mimics the gesture.

It is then that Spock feels it.

Jim has always been adept at putting a shield around his mind, more so than any human Spock has met. It is one of the reasons why he does not admonish Jim for the small physical gestures of comradery, such as lightly swatting his shoulder, when he would not cease to reprimand any other.

But now, through the tenuous connection they have, Spock can catch a glimpse of his mind. It’s just the tiniest crack; barely enough to consider it a lowering of his shields, but it exists.

And what he finds there surprises him.

When he had connected with Captain Pike in the brief moments before his death, Spock had been hit by pulses of fear and pain and guilt. The sudden and intense emotions were so fierce that they had overwhelmed his defences.

With Jim, however, those emotions were background; it was almost as though he was purposely hiding them. Instead, delicate tendrils of gratefulness, acceptance, and familial love reach out and caress his weary mind. They are weak, barely more than wispy smoke, but he feels them as clear as he feels the cool glass between them.

This is Jim’s goodbye, he thinks to himself. 

And when he turns his attention back to Jim’s face, he immediately notices that he has a faint smile as he considers their hands.

With barely a second thought, Spock echoes those sentiments back through their fragile connection. He tries to convey to Jim as much as he can. Spock tells him that he appreciates how he values his opinion on ship matters; his invitations to play chess; his consideration for his need for privacy. He tells him of his admiration; how he holds him in high esteem because he has proven himself to be a strong and capable captain who sees the worth of every life aboard his ship. He tells him that he is eternally grateful that he saved his life and that he will always regret writing that report. He tells him that he has never found a truer, more dedicated friend.

Spock knows his thoughts have reached him when Jim’s eyes flicker to focus on his. The depth of emotion behind them is as unfathomable as the man himself. His gaze stays steady even as he coughs feebly. It stays as he takes his last shallow gasps of air. It stays as he hears the faint thank you resonate through the connection. It is only when Jim gives his last drawn out exhale that his stare shifts to the upper left.

Spock is forced to watch as the wildfire that burned beneath his captain’s, his friend’s, eyes dims until it becomes barely more than the flicker of a dying candle. Then, little by little, the remaining light fades until there is nothing left but empty wasteland.

The connection to Jim’s mind goes horrifyingly silent. The hand that had been pressed against the glass slides down, lifeless.

Spock feels like a cavity has just been ripped through his chest. He breathes heavily, trying desperately to suppress the sobs that want to tear out of his throat. His body reflexively curls up, an instinctive move to protect him from danger. But there is no threat now. There is only a crushing sorrow and grief that he’s not even sure time will heal.

He wonders for a moment how life could be so cruel. He was forced to witness the destruction of his planet, feel the loss of millions of lives. Spock could only stare as his mother, his only source of support, was taken from him a mere second before the transporter would have saved her. And now, a scant few years later, his only friend had gazed into his eyes as he took his last breaths. 

What if he had been that split second faster and had grabbed his mother’s hand? What if he had let then Cadet Kirk explain his hypothesis to Captain Pike so they could have formed a more informed plan? What if he had let Jim send the missiles to the Klingon home world? What if? 

His mind is crumbling; the wall he had built to contain his emotions has already collapsed.

There is only one solution to this. There is only one way to right his mind again. When his mother had died, there was not a single thing that helped more than bringing justice to the man that had caused her demise. 

Khan must to pay, his thoughts snarl. He needs to pay with his blood; he must pay with his life. Khan should be made to feel every miserable second of agony that he put Jim through. Khan ought to be put down like the filthy animal he is. 

He will have his revenge.

With a scream that unleashes all the sorrow and fury he holds inside him, Spock turns away from the teachings of Surak and allows his carnal side to take control.

“KHAN!”


End file.
